


Math Dad

by onepercent



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, Good husbands, M/M, They love each other, domesticity but theyre at school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14576355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercent/pseuds/onepercent
Summary: Grantaire substitutes for Enjolras’ Calculus class. Mild chaos ensues.





	Math Dad

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like a day and it was really fun. I haven’t written anything short and sweet for these two, so I figured now was as good a time as any. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please enjoy!

Lily and her friends were chattering as usual before the bell. She and Erin were sitting on their desks with their feet in their chairs at the front of the room, giggling at Hugo, who was trying and failing to balance a pencil upright on his forehead. The bell to begin second period rang, and everyone immediately plopped down in their seats, quiet except for the rustling of notes and last night’s homework sheets being pulled out of binders and bags. Mr Enjolras didn’t care what they did before class—usually his nose was too deep in his laptop or phone to even notice what they were doing before class—but the moment the bell rang, you’d better be in your chair with your pen and paper or you’d be sorry. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration—Mr Enjolras was generally very nice and helpful, if a little scary and strict at first—but you get the idea. 

One problem: Mr Enjolras wasn’t there. 

The class was silent. Mr Enjolras had never been late before. What were they to do? An uncomfortable sense of unease spread eerily throughout the class. 

“If he isn’t here for fifteen minutes, we can go home,” Gerome said unhelpfully from the back of the room. No-one responded to him. 

Many minutes came and went, and the room continued to stay quiet. Some students were playing on their phones, some were finishing last night’s homework. Lily and Erin and Hugo drew dumb little scenes to explain why Mr Enjolras was gone. A few brave souls at the back of the room whispered amongst each other, the noise never growing larger than a murmur. It was just habit—after the second period bell rang, you were quiet unless Mr Enjolras called on you answer a difficult question or to solve an equation on the whiteboard. Nobody wanted to be the one to break the lull, lest their teacher show up right at that moment and chew them out. 

At last the silence was broken by the door to the classroom swinging open. In the doorway was not Mr Enjolras, but a rather disheveled looking man wearing a pair of stained jeans—it was Tuesday, and jeans were only allowed on Fridays for teachers—with dark curly hair and a prominent five o’clock shadow. “Greetings,” he said as he walked over to Mr Enjolras’ desk. He set his things down upon it and looked back up at the students, who said nothing. 

He stared back at them for a few moments before laughing. “Y’all are a quiet bunch, huh?” 

Lily shrugged. “Mr Enjolras likes everything to be quiet during class,” she offered. 

“Except himself,” said he with a blatant grin. 

Lily recalled the time Mr Enjolras had gotten really passionate about infinite limits and knocked over the trash can and Mr Courfeyrac had to come tell him to shut up because he was distracting his freshman Geometry student down the hall. She shrugged again. 

He just smiled wider, and addressed the whole class. “Well, I’m Mr Grantaire, and I’ll be your sub today. Mr Enjolras is out sick, unfortunately, so alas and alack, I must take his weary place.” He looked dramatically sad at that, and most of the students cracked a smile at this weird substitute with the splattered clothes and melancholy grin. Mr Grantaire quickly counted heads and shuffled his papers around. “It seems y’all are all here, so it says here y’all can work on—“

“What’s Mr Enjolras sick with?” blurted Gerome. He was the only one that said it, but not the only one to think it. Mr Enjolras had never missed a day of school the entire year—Lily’s older sister who graduated three years ago said he hadn’t missed a day the twelve years he worked at the high school. It was probably true. 

“Nothing too serious, I assure you,” said Mr Grantaire offhandedly as he rearranged Mr Enjolras’ pens. Beside Lily, Hugo blanched. The first day of school, Hugo had already lost all his pens and attempted to sneak one from Mr Enjolras’ desk. He would have gotten away with it, too, but he put it back in the wrong cup and got a very loud and stern lecture following. If Mr Enjolras’ total Resting Bitch-Face hadn’t intimidated all the new students fully before that, that surely did afterwards. It was the reason Mr Enjolras never had a student aide—he was notoriously over-organized, but nobody fully knew his method, not even Mr Combeferre, the other Calculus teacher and Mr Enjolras’ good friend. 

“He just has a mild case of strep,” further explained Mr Grantaire. “Bed rest for three days, doctor’s orders. He’ll be back tomorrow, no doubt, regardless if he feels better.” 

A few students giggled. It was true—Mr Enjolras looked like a zombie for morning tutoring, and only halfway through second period did he ever manage to fully be awake. Not that he let that stop him from excitedly and animatedly explaining the true potential of quadrinomials, or something. 

“Now, he left a note saying y’all should be working on—“ Mr Grantaire started again, but was interrupted abruptly by Erin. 

“How do you know Mr Enjolras?” she asked brazenly. The confidence of being able to talk without raising one’s hand in an orderly manner was clearly wedging its way into the students’ usually mild-mannered tempers. “You seem to know him pretty well.”

“There was a major mix-up with the classrooms when I first started teaching here, so I taught Art History next door for a year,” said Mr Grantaire absently as he rifled through one of the desk drawers and retrieved a piece of bubblegum from its depths. The students stared in awe. Who was this man who so shamelessly messed with their beloved teacher’s belongings so? “We kept running into each other and became friends.” The cheeky little smile on his face told them that he was hiding something, but they decided not to push it. 

Mr Grantaire popped the gum into his mouth and blew a small bubble. Before he could resume talking, presumably to get the class back on track of Mr Enjolras’ instructions—very specific, if anything is to be said for the large, multi-stapled packet in their substitute’s hand—he was again interrupted. 

“Why does Mr Enjolras have gum in his desk?” said Isa, who had probably never gotten in trouble in her entire life, and was generally harmless in Lily’s opinion. “Gum is against school rules.”

Mr Grantaire laughed. “He has a rebellious streak a mile wide, you know, so I bet the knowledge of keeping something forbidden makes his little heart sing.”

“Rebellious?” said Hugo, voicing their confusion. Mr Enjolras, with his pressed slacks and matching belts and meticulous hair—rebellious?

“Oh, yeah,” replied Mr Grantaire simply. “He got the girls’ dress code permanently changed the year I started teaching. Didn’t think he would manage it, but once he’s got his mind set on something, he’ll do it. I kept complaining to him about the bad art supplies available to the AP students, and he rewrote and submitted a budget to increase funding for the arts and humanities around school. I told him all year he was stupid for trying, but you can imagine my surprise when it was actually accepted.”

“You teach AP art?” asked Alan. He wasn’t the best at math, but his graphs were always perfect, Lily noted. He probably was set to take senior art next year. 

“I used to,” said Mr Grantaire with a shrug, turning to the white board and opening a new package of markers. “I’m a freelance web designer and digital artist, now.”

“Cool,” said Alan, starry-eyed. 

“Now, your teacher graciously left me quite the packet of notes for what y’all should be working on,” said Mr Grantaire, motioning to the packet on the desk, “but I don’t know what half the words mean and I would rather just draw on his board to make him angry. Y’all can work on homework or join me, I guess, as long as you stay somewhat quiet.” And with that, he turned his back on them and began to draw. 

Alan was the first to move—he tentatively grabbed an Expo beside Mr Grantaire and began to doodle little frogs in the bottom corner of the board. Gerome skipped up the aisle to join them, drawing identical flowers up and down the sides. Hugo, Erin, and Lily followed soon after, tag-teaming a barely-recognizable array of Pokémon. More and more students snagged markers, effectively turning the board into a rainbow of color and style. In the middle stood Mr Grantaire, sketching a surprisingly realistic portrait of Mr Enjolras from memory. As they drew, they asked him questions about their lucrative professor, and he was all too happy to provide them answers, much to their joy. Mr Enjolras was thirty-eight, and his birthday was November twenty-second. He was naturally blond, but got highlights in his hair in the winters. His favorite book was Order of the Phoenix. He couldn’t understand poetry, no matter how hard he tried. He played piano but couldn’t hold a tune for his life. His favorite color was red (well, the students could have guessed that much). He worked as a translator for a non-profit in Central America before becoming a math teacher. His favorite food was lamb curry. All this and more, Grantaire relinquished answer after answer to their never-ending questions, yet as their inquiries grew, so too did the noise; it all came to a close when Lily, unsuccessfully attempting to render a Rapidash with a dying pink Expo, asked: “Mr Grantaire—is Mr Enjolras married? He doesn’t have any pictures on his desk or around the room, and he really never talks about his family, so I just didn’t know if—“

Just then, the door opened, and Mr Courfeyrac popped his head in. “Whatever y’all are doing, can you please shut up,” he said tiredly, but visibly brightened when he saw Mr Grantaire by the board. “Oh, hey R! What are you doing here?”

“E’s sick,” said Mr Grantaire, capping his marker. “Strep. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mr Courfeyrac nodded solemnly. “Tell him to feel better for me when you see him tonight—“ The was a loud thunk down the corridor, and Mr Courfeyrac split his attention back to the hallway to yell something at one of the freshmen, then turning back to address Mr Grantaire. “Well, someone just threw their laptop down the stairs or something so I gotta scram, but it was nice seeing you, R! And kids, be nice for Mr Grantaire here—you wouldn’t want Mr Enjolras on your tail for upsetting him, now would you?” He smiled, a little devilishly. “Well, goodbye, then!” He waved to the rest of the class, most of which waved back. Mr Courfeyrac’s energy was rather contagious, and the noise in the room quickly escalated to a dull roar again before Mr Grantaire clapped loudly. 

“Okay, settle down, please,” he said as they grew quiet, moving back to their assigned seats. “I was just reminded that I don’t want an angry blond prof out for my blood because I transmuted his students into rowdy hooligans, so let’s actually work the last thirty minutes of class, alright? It says here your homework last night was…” 

The rest of second period moved on without a hitch. Mr Grantaire intermittently messed with Mr Enjolras’ pens, and filled what little white space on the board that was left with perfect little stars as the kids worked. The bell rang and the students filed out, each one calling out a hearty goodbye to Mr Grantaire, who returned their well-wishes with equal gusto. By the end of the period, Lily didn’t even remember that he had never answered her question about Mr Enjolras.

-

Mr Grantaire was a really great substitute, but refused to help anyone with their homework, as he was apparently terrible at math. Because of this, Lily couldn’t get number fifteen right on the homework from a few nights ago—none of her friends could get it either, so she went into morning tutoring the next day. Mr Enjolras should have been back anyway, if Mr Grantaire was to be trusted. 

The school was relatively quiet at 7:35 am. Lily knew tutoring was supposed to start at 7:45 every morning, but the traffic was surprisingly light that day, so she got there early. It was silent but for her tapping footsteps and the hum of just-booted up projectors up and down the halls—thus, it was not quite so difficult to hear Mr Enjolras’ voice trailing out of his classroom. Lily wasn’t eavesdropping, she really wasn’t! She was just listening to what was available to her ears. Definitely not eavesdropping. Honest!

“...okay, fine. I admit I like the portrait you did, even if you did waste all of my markers,” he was saying. “It’s very...colorful.” That was an understatement. Once Grantaire had finished the basic outline, the students took turns coloring it in with various patterns. If Lily was recalling correctly, his eyes were eggplant purple, and his hair neon green stripes. 

“Don’t laugh!” Mr Enjolras was exclaiming, but Lily could hear the smile in his voice. It was clear now he was speaking to Mr Grantaire on his cell phone. His voice was a little raspy, but otherwise clear as it rang through the otherwise empty math corridor. “I know as much about art as you do about math, so you can be quiet. Did you get anything done yesterday? … R! You said you could handle them and I didn’t have to call in to get a substitute, couldn’t I trust you to at least let them—“ Lily could hear the edge of mild panic in her teacher’s voice, and she felt distinctly bad for Mr Grantaire. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and it was probably the most fun she had had in Mr Enjolras’ class all year. Not that Mr Enjolras was boring or anything; he was just a little...uptight, sometimes. 

“...yes, okay, you’re right, you win, I’m sorry,” Mr Enjolras continued with a resigned but fond sigh. “You did great. I’m sure I’ll get many a request to get you back over to watch them, if you made such an amazing impression as you say.” He paused. Lily tentatively looked around the corner to see Mr Enjolras frowning at his watch, his glasses sliding down his nose a little. “Tutoring is supposed to start soon, so I have to go. I love you, and I’ll see you tonight for dinner, right? You’d better not wear those awful paint-soaked things straight from studio...” 

Suddenly it made sense to Lily. Why Mr Grantaire knew so much about Mr Enjolras; why Mr Courfeyrac told him pass along his message to Mr Enjolras when he got home; perhaps why Grantaire didn’t want to answer Lily’s question, regardless of interruption. Lily’s heart inexplicably felt lighter. It was reassuring to know Mr Enjolras was just secretive about his family, not that he didn’t have one at all. That seemed awfully lonely, and Mr Grantaire and Mr Enjolras seemed like an unlikely but nice couple together. Lily was happy for them. 

“ … I really can’t, since I wasn’t here yesterday, I suspect many will have questions over the test review…” Mr Enjolras was continuing. “ …but, I guess I can stay on the phone until someone shows up. You’re a bad influence, I really must be working on next week’s lesson plans…” 

Lily looked back at her bookbag, and then up at Mr Enjolras small smile. She shrugged mentally, and began the trek back downstairs to the commons. Her questions could wait until second period.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from my math class last year. My teacher’s husband came in and didn’t tell us who he was, and we didn’t know it was her husband until the next day when she told us! From then on, he kept visiting throughout the year to visit, and we called him Math Dad. Good times. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are super appreciated if you enjoyed it!


End file.
